


Maybe It was The Maker

by AngelusLorelei



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelusLorelei/pseuds/AngelusLorelei
Summary: Six months into her year of servitude, Hawke seeks peace and solace in the chantry.My idea of how Hawke and Sebastian may have actually first met.  A priest (or Chantry Brother) in a major city like Kirkwall would see thousands of people every day.  Sebastian may have barely remembered Hawke later, but she would have remembered him.





	Maybe It was The Maker

“I never imagined myself as a mercenary.” Bethany had said.

“Neither did I.”

A man nearby shot Hawke an annoyed glance and returned to his prayers.  Hawke hadn't meant to speak out loud.  Six months into their enforced servitude with Athenril, six more to go.  Hawke closed her eyes and let her head fall back.  The Chantry was quiet just after dawn and always cool even though it was the height of summer.  With her eyes closed, Hawke listened.  The man who had shot her a glare was praying aloud for Andraste to help him resist the Blooming Rose.  Meanwhile, sisters and mothers were moving around, lighting candles, replacing incense cones, and preparing for morning services.

Hawke opened her eyes and contemplated the vaulted ceiling.  She and Bethany had been working on a job for the past three days.  The initial instructions had been to intercept another smugglers’ shipment and destroy the goods.  The “shipment” it turned out had been made up of people rather than silks or wine.  She and Bethany had freed the would be slaves. And Hawke, Hawke had killed every slaver she found.  She couldn’t stop thinking about the children.  The children had been dirty, starving and covered in bruises.

Someone to her left coughed.  Her muscles tensed anticipating an attack.  But rather than the slaver she’d been half expecting, the offender was a man wearing the robes of an initiate. 

“Good morning.”

Hawke blinked owlishly at him.  He spoke the Trade Tongue but with a rolling accent that seemed to curl over his ‘r’s.  Slowly Hawke’s eyes roamed over his figure.  He was tall and well muscled, especially for a Chantry brother.  As he moved to stand next to her, Hawke noticed the subtle shifts in his walk that indicated someone who had been trained to fight and well.  She let him get within arm’s reach of her before she replied.

“And a good morning to you, Brother.”

He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled with laugh lines.

“Ah, not a brother yet I’m afraid.  I am nearly six months from taking my vows.”

“Six months?” Hawke repeated with a small smile, “I see.”

“Forgive me, but I do not think I have ever seen you at a morning service before.”

“You wouldn’t have.  But perhaps you know my mother?  Leandra Hawke?”

The man shook his head, “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Hawke shrugged and turned her gaze to the statue of Andraste.

“You seem… troubled.”

Hawke sighed and leaned forward to rest her forehead on the pew in front of her.

“Yes.” Was all she said. 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion or the soft darkness of the Chantry that made her elaborate.  Either way, she continued after a moment of silence,

“I am working off a debt doing work that can be… difficult.  Sometimes, I see things I don’t want to see.”

She heard some slight shifting and nearly shot up out of her seat when she felt him settle next to her.  She quickly scooted away from him, and he let her without judgment.  Just as she had taken in his appearance, he now took in hers.  His eyes landed on her daggers, sheathed and strapped to her back and her leathers, scuffed and well worn.

“You are from Fereldan.”

“Yes.”

“Someone bought your way into the city then?”

She grunted an affirmative, keeping an eye on him in her peripheral vision.

“You know, as an initiate I can hear your confession.”

Hawke couldn’t stop the bark of laughter that left her throat.  Covering her mouth, she quickly apologized,

“I’m sorry!  It’s just,” she turned and pinned him with the full weight of her gaze, “I doubt that you’d want to hear what I have to say.  I am in what the Chantry might consider, sinful work.”

He cocked his head, “I doubt you could surprise me.”

Hawke’s grin turned suggestive, and to her surprise and delight, he blushed.  Taking pity on the poor man, she told him,

“Today I was ordered to disrupt and destroy a rival smugglers’ shipment.  They were smuggling _people_ like chattel.”

“I see.”

“I set them free.  Then,” she turned her body to face him, “I killed any slavers I could find.”

She expected him to at least appear moderately surprised, but he didn’t react at all.

“And?”

“And?  That’s it.  That’s what I’ve done.  I’ve killed over a dozen men in the past few hours.  I’ve stolen and killed more than I care to admit in the last six months alone.  And I’ll likely have to do more before I am through.”

Hawke’s felt her shoulders slump. And then he asked,

“You don’t take pleasure in the killing?”

“Of course not.  I do what I have to do for my family.  To survive.”

“To kill is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.  But,” he leaned forward, “We are not responsible for what we do under duress.  And, the Maker forgives those who are truly repentant.”

“But I’m not sorry.” She blurted out. “I may not have enjoyed killing them, but I am glad they are dead.  They will never hurt another child again.”

The Brother made a sympathetic noise, “You saw children there?”

“Yes.” Hawke ground out, “Whole families where there.  Captured fleeing The Blight and being sold to Tevineter.”

“Then, you have likely saved many lives.”

“What?”

“In killing those men, you have saved many lives.  Those slavers will never take another person, never harm another soul and that is a good thing.”

Hawke paused then, flustered replied, “I don’t think you’re allowed to say things like that.”

“It is the truth.”

“But you’re… you’re a brother in the Chantry.”

He stood then and looked down at her, “I find what they did abhorrent.  But, no one is beyond forgiveness, beyond help.  We are all born with our free will, and they made their choice over and over again.  Perhaps the Maker will forgive them in death, perhaps he will not.  But everything that happens, everything we do, is part of His grand plan.  When was the last time you came to the Chantry?”

“I… I can’t remember.”

“But here you are, speaking to me.  If you hadn’t have seen those slaves, killed those men, would you have come here, to talk to Him or seek His comfort?  Perhaps you were meant to see that horror so you can make sure it never happens again.”

At that exact moment, the sun rose high enough that a band of light landed on him, backlighting him with a halo of light, and highlighting his bright blue-green eyes.  Hawke swallowed thickly. 

_Maker. If he shouldn’t say those things as a brother, then I **definitely** shouldn’t think **that** about a brother._

“Just think about it.  Maker be with you.”

“And also with you” She responded robotically as he walked away.

A woman’s voice pierced the silence, “Sebastian?”

“I am here Revered Mother!” her chantry brother called back before talking down the stairs.  Hawke sat alone in silence again.  But when the voice singing the Chant of Light turned out to be that of Brother Sebastian, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

 

 


End file.
